The words we use shape how we see the world and ourselves. They can soften or sharpen meaning, and even a small change can shift how something feels. Think about the difference between saying, “love you” and “I love you.” That tiny addition makes it feel more personal and intentional. Words aren’t just about how others understand us—they also shape how we understand our own experiences.

In January of last year, a member of the bishopric reached out to ask if I could meet with the bishop. Curious, I asked, “Regarding what?” He replied, “To discuss a calling.” I explained that I wasn’t interested in having a calling at the time but thanked him for reaching out. His response caught me off guard. Having never turned down a calling before, he seemed surprised and said, “Wow, okay.”

That’s when I said, “I have no animosity towards anyone in the ward or stake, but for me personally, I am taking a step away from the Church. I haven’t told anyone other than my husband.”

That moment marked the first time I used that phrase, but it certainly wouldn’t be the last. Reflecting on it now, it was the beginning of my awareness of how much weight words carry in shaping not only how I express my decisions but also how I understand them myself.

That conversation with the bishopric member was a turning point. It made me acutely aware of how I spoke about my departure. Saying I quit never felt right—it seemed too blunt, too simplistic for the complexity of what I was going through. Instead, I gravitated toward phrases like stepping away, which felt more reflective of my personal journey. At times, I would say, “I’m not Mormon anymore” or “I left my church.” Each phrase carried a nuance, shaped by the audience and my own feelings at the moment. But why does the way we frame our departure matter so much? What does the way we frame our departure say about us, our experiences, and the society we live in?

For many, stepping away feels less permanent than quitting. It suggests a sense of movement or transition, leaving the door open for a possible return. Perhaps this ambiguity is comforting—to us, to our loved ones, or even to those still within the organization. It avoids the finality that comes with saying, “I quit,” which can sound harsh or absolute. Stepping away acknowledges the nuance of leaving something as monumental as a religion, allowing space for the complexity of the emotions involved.

Many people associate quitting with giving up or failing. Saying, “I quit the church,” can carry a sense of defeat for some, as if it’s an admission of weakness. But those who’ve deconstructed their faith know that leaving is rarely easy. It takes strength to question beliefs you’ve held for years, courage to deal with the consequences, and resilience to rebuild your life on new terms.

Leaving a religion feels far more personal than just “quitting.” It’s not like leaving a job or a hobby; it’s walking away from a community and a way of seeing the world. For those who’ve been deeply committed, it can feel like leaving a part of yourself behind. That’s why words like “stepping away” can feel more fitting—they capture the complexity and ongoing nature of the decision.

It’s interesting to note the variety of phrases people use to describe leaving their faith:

• I left the church
• I stopped attending
• I’m no longer active
• I transitioned out of my faith
• I took a step back

Each phrase carries its own nuance, revealing something about the speaker’s mindset or experience. Some soften the impact for the sake of preserving relationships. Others emphasize growth or empowerment. And some, like I took a step back, keep things intentionally vague, avoiding uncomfortable conversations or judgments.

While stepping away feels accurate for many, there’s power in reclaiming the phrase I quit. Saying “I quit the church” is a bold statement of agency. It’s an acknowledgment that you made a conscious choice to walk away from something that no longer served you or aligned with your values. It strips away the ambiguity and replaces it with clarity and strength.

For me, embracing the idea of quitting has been part of my journey toward congruence. I’ve learned it’s okay to feel conflicted about the term while striving for authenticity. This internal struggle reflects the complexity of leaving something so deeply intertwined with identity and values. It’s about aligning my words with my truth, even if those words make others uncomfortable. Quitting isn’t a failure; it’s a decision—one that often requires immense courage.

Whether we say I stepped away, I left, or I quit, the words we choose matter. Looking back on that conversation with the bishopric member, I realize how pivotal it was in helping me find the language that felt right for me. It wasn’t just about how I communicated my decision to others; it was about finding words that honored the complexity of my journey. For me, saying I quit still feels heavy and not entirely right, but I’m learning to see it as a badge of honor rather than a mark of shame. After all, quitting isn’t just about leaving; it’s about starting over, embracing growth, and finding the courage to be true to yourself.

What about you? How do you describe your journey, and what does that language mean to you?